


White Noise

by Cchambers



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Blame Jack Falahee and his acting skills, HTGAWM Spoilers, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9996308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cchambers/pseuds/Cchambers
Summary: "She wasn't lying when she said you'd kill yourself, was she? Annalise didn't lie."





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic posted on here! Hope you enjoy!

“She wasn’t lying, was she?”

Connor stilled, hovering by the door, eyes darting across as if he thought he’d leave again. His jaw clenched and Oliver saw how tired he looked, even in the dimmed lights of the apartment.

This was a rare shade of Connor, hidden and tucked away for no one to see that even Oliver still wasn’t used to it. Connor was breaking, slowly, at first, until the crack became too big to hide and the surface was fragile.

“She wasn’t lying when she said you’d kill yourself, was she? Annalise didn’t lie.”  
Annalise lied about a lot of things, but she was the only calm in the chaos of crying and screaming, pure desperation and anger blending until no one in the room caught their breath.

“ _He’ll go and kill himself_ ,” she hissed at Laurel, but the girl didn’t flinch, staring. Oliver, paralyzed with fear, saw Connor curl further into himself, the look on his face as everyone watched him: the breaking boy. 

“ _And his blood will be on our hands_.”

He didn’t know.

He loved him, and he didn’t know.

Connor wanted to hide it, and he did, so well Oliver never saw the worry, the weight of the guilt on his shoulders like weight of the world on Atlas’. The blaming Annalise, the blaming Wes. The fight with Asher, the cuts on his cheek, the yellowing bruises.

Connor was breaking, and Oliver didn’t see.

Finally, Connor answered.

Barely a whisper, and he wasn’t saying it to Oliver, but himself, and it was managed through a stifled sob. 

“No, she wasn’t.”

Oliver felt his the knife in his stomach sink even deeper, and Connor didn’t meet his eyes- or maybe he didn’t want to, but Oliver needed to look at him, stare into his gaze and see something he knew, something he loved.  
He found courage somewhere deep, miles below the surface, and he approached Connor slowly, as if he were a wounded animal, a lost, scared creature.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Connor didn’t push away Oliver’s hand, and he was somewhere else that wasn’t the living room of their apartment. He spoke slowly, dazed. “No, you- you deserve to know. No more lies.” He was fighting himself.

Oliver didn’t know if he wanted to _know_.

“Can we? Can we sit down?”

Connor collapsed onto the couch, far from Oliver, and immediately reached for the nearest pillow. His grip was tight, knuckles paling, and he clutched the lifeline as he struggled for words.

“Do you ever feel tired, Oliver?” Connor stared at the wall, fiddling with the pillow, voice hollow and drained of all life, all emotion; the sarcasm and snark gone.

What kind of question was that?

“So tired that, only when the world stopped, you’d be able to rest. To collapse and close your eyes and forget. Just forget.”

Oliver fought the urge to nod; flashbacks of the night he found out about him being positive, curled up in the vast darkness, helpless and alone.  
Until Connor walked in.

“I was running.” Connor said; and then it dawned on Oliver that he went for a run last night. Last night. He was so close, so far, and the night before was so far away Oliver couldn’t touch it, couldn’t forget it if he tried.

“The world was loud, Ollie. It was so loud I thought I might’ve gone deaf: every car horn, every siren, every voice. And then I realized it wasn’t the world outside: it was the world inside my head.”

Tears stung in Oliver’s eyes, his perspective spotty as he watched Connor pour his heart onto the floor.

“Wes’ bone breaking, Annalise’s house burning, her screaming at me, the sound of Sam’s body hitting the floor and the gunshot from the manor and the splatter of Sinclair’s body.”

Connor breathed heavily, lingering and disappearing, giving away to small, struggling sobs. He was trying to calm himself, but it wasn’t working.

“I was screaming at myself, and I was so tired, but I kept running. I couldn’t stop, because that’s all I do, Oliver: all I do is run from everything.”

Oliver opened his mouth to stay something, but Connor put up a hand, “Let me get this out, please. I- I need to tell someone. You. I need to tell you.” 

Oliver whispered, “Okay.”

“I don’t know how long I ran, I don’t even know where I ended up. But it was so, it felt exhilarating, terrifying, and I thought, _hey, maybe I could get away_. Just maybe.”

They both knew that wasn’t true.

“I was alone. I was tired. Of everything.”

Connor was crying, tears cascading down his cheeks, rose red against the ghostly pale of his skin, his hair stuck to his face. 

“I saw the bright lights of the bus, rushing down the street in my direction. And then I thought-”

Oliver would never be prepared for the words he heard.

“This could be my end.”

 _But you didn’t_ , Oliver wanted to stand up, _you didn’t, and you’re here with me, and it’ll be okay, and we can-_

_Oliver, stop lying to yourself.”_

“I don’t think I was really there, Oliver. It was an out of body experience, and then I was pulled back into reality as I felt the wind, the force of the bus flying past me, brushing against my cheeks, my face.”  
Oliver didn’t know what to do.

“I was on the curb.”

They fell into silence, Connor silently crying, closed off from Oliver, a wall surrounding him. It’d be there all along, and Oliver was naïve enough to tell himself it fell.

“Connor,” he said.

His boyfriend looked up, his eyes wide, pierced with fear, panic. 

“Come here.”

The couch groaned as Connor threw himself onto Oliver, clutching him and pulling him close, burying his face into the fabric of his coat.

Oliver didn’t say anything as Connor broke down: he didn’t need to. He was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Oliver loved him, and he wasn’t going anywhere.


End file.
